


No Knight In Shining Armour

by mynameisginster



Series: Storybrooke Verse [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Development, Developin Relationship, F/M, Introspection, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1194891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisginster/pseuds/mynameisginster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumplestiltskin knows he is no knight in shining armour, and decides that Belle is better off without him. But Belle has always thought that knights were rather uninteresting specimen, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Knight In Shining Armour

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [No Prince Charming](https://archiveofourown.org/works/923763) by [mynameisginster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisginster/pseuds/mynameisginster). 



> This is a remix of my other fic 'No Prince Charming', this time written from Rum's POV. I would recommend reading that one first, but it doesn't really matter. Enjoy!

“I'm afraid I have to cancel our meeting, sweetheart. There have been some problems with due rents, and there is a lot of paperwork to do... I won't bore you with the details. But I just can't afford to go out today. I'll only have the time to grab a quick bite in between”, his voice trailed off lamely. Belle made no sound for a second, and his fingers gripped the phone tighter.  
  
“Oh. Okay. Maybe tomorrow?”, she asked, voice low and sad.  
  
“I can't promise anything”, he made himself answer in his best business voice, and ignored the feeling the words left in his stomach.  
  
“Belle?”, he asked when she didn't answer. He was feeling numb.  
  
“It's alright. I know how busy you are. I was just really looking forward to seeing you”, she said in a small voice that was so entirely unlike her that it physically hurt him to hear it. She wanted to see him, despite what he did, and he could envision her face, her trusting eyes and smiling mouth.  
He pressed his eyes shut against the pain that gnawed in his stomach.

  


In his grief he slipped, and whispered:  
  
“I'm sorry, Belle.”  
  
His hand gripping the edge of the table, he cursed himself for his mistake, because now he would have to smooth it over. He had vowed not to make any mistakes. Belle deserved that he did not make any mistakes. Breathing out through his nose, he reigned in his voice.  
  
“We'll talk tomorrow. Why don't you go and read a book or meet Ruby. I have to go now. Goodbye”, he said, and ended the call before she could say anything to sway him or he could do something dangerously stupid. Finger still pressed on the button and his other hand gripping the table, he kept his eyes shut, nostrils flaring with the effort to control his breathing. In his chest his heart was racing, as if it was trying to outrun him.  
  
Rumplestiltskin stood there for a long time, not finding the energy to move. He should go and check up on Regina, ensure that everything was going according to plan, should go and work on finding a way to cross the townline to finally go and find his son. There were a thousand things he should be doing, but he couldn't do any of them, because it felt all senseless. If it weren't for Bae somewhere out there, he would just stand in this place and stare at the rough wood under his fingers until his life finally, finally left him. He was so very tired.  
  
Eventually he dragged himself out of his stasis, and went to the study. It wasn't entirely a lie when he had told Belle that there was paperwork to deal with. Sighing, he shrugged out of his suitjacket, hanging it over the armchair in the corner. He limped around the desk and sat down, rubbing his ankle. Since he had brought magic to this land it had been better, but over the last week the pain had gotten worse again. He couldn't be bothered to change it, in fact, he welcomed the pain, the punishment for his choices that came with it and the way it reminded him of who he really was.  
  
He tried to work, and for a while he concentrated on the different contracts piling on his desk, but soon his attention started straying, the hurt that festered in him demanding to be felt.  
  
Burying his face in his hands, he tried to forget the sound of her voice when she said that she wanted to see him. Every fiber of his being yearned to give in and go to her. It had always been this way with Belle. She was the sun and he was trapped in her orbit. Staying away from her was like trying to defy gravity. Not being with her, refraining from loving her was like dragging himself up a steep cliff with his feeble human strength and his broken leg. Being with her and loving her was as effortless as falling. And fall for her he did, everytime over again, and harder than before. But Rumplestiltskin had experience with falling, and he knew that eventually he had to hit the ground. He had survived the past times, with broken bones and bruises, but he had survived.  
  
He knew that he would not survive Belle. But this was not about him. This was about Belle , precious Belle who deserved so much more than him, and if there was one person- apart from Bae- that he would do everything for, it was her. Even if it meant letting go.  
  
It had all started about two weeks ago when she had been out for a girl's night with Ruby. He had called her to check that everything was alright, and when they had ended the call, Belle, still inexperienced with everything technical, had forgotten to hang up. He had wanted to hang up when he had heard his name. Giving into the temptation, he had eavesdropped. In hindsight, he probably should've known that it wasn't a good idea. Everybody knew what happens to eavesdroppers. But he was known to make the wrong decisions and so he listened.  
  
“ _So.. this is serious between you two, yeah?”, Rubys voice inquired.  
  
“I.. I think so.. It's difficult. But he's doing so much better now. He's trying, and that gives me hope __that we might have a chance to be happy together_ _”, Belle answered slowly.  
  
“Huh. Who would've thought that Rumplestiltskin would turn out to be __the Prince in disguise that gets the girl. Or Mr. Gold for that. The only moods I ever saw him in were pissed and asshole. Sorry”, Ruby added sheepishly, and he imagined Belle's scowl. “All I mean is that he's not exactly what you'd classify as dreamguy material.”  
  
“I don't think there is anyone to classify as that. At least not here. Look at us; werewolf and lunatic librarian. Besides, Viktor doesn't fit into that pattern either.”  
  
“I have no idea what you're talking about. But yeah, I guess we aren't really the right ones to judge.. And you really think he's going to change?”  
  
Belle waited a moment with her answer.  
  
“Yes. I think he will. There are some things he told me that make me think that eventually he will. He's trying not to use as much magic... I believe in him”, Belle answered, voice low and firm.  
  
“_ _Well, I hope you're right..”, Ruby said, and then trailed off about washing something out of Belle's hair.  
  
_ He had hung up after this, his whole body feeling like ice, skin prickling and heart clenching. His mind was whirling, repeating what he had heard, trying to make sense, words and sentences mingling and changing and racing along with his heartbeat.  
She hoped that he would change. Obviously, since he had fucked up spectacularly, otherwise he would still wake up and find Belle in his arms. Of course she wanted him to get rid of magic. He knew that.  
  
 _Maybe we might have a chance to be happy together.  
  
_ Did that mean she wasn't happy? Of course she couldn't be _happy_ with him, who constantly failed her, but he had thought... he had thought that she wasn't unhappy. She had told him that she enjoyed their dates, and she had visited him in his shop, had kissed him, but she had also moved out. He knew that she needed time to adjust to everything, but having heard what he had, doubts and insecurities started to raise their heads.  
  
That night he had lain in bed, sleep evading him, doubts and anguish tormenting him.  He had tried to make sense of what she thought, but found that he couldn't. He felt like he was missing something, like there was something he should see, should understand, but couldn't. The next days he watched her closely, fear still in his stomach and mind absorbed in it's musings, a sense of forebonding hanging over him like a sword of Damocles.  
  
She did not _seem_ unhappy when she was with him, at least not unless he fell back into his old evilness. She laughed, she told him about her day, she told him she was happy and she touched him casually, a stroke over his arm here, a touch to his hand there, a kiss in between, and when she looked at him, her eyes were shining with love and happiness. All was perfect, but still he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. It took him a whole week to realise what it w as.  
  
It happened when she found him refusing to help one of the dwarves, when the shining look of her eyes had been replaced by a disappointed one, and it suddenly felt normal, that he realised that no one had ever looked at him like Belle did. Once he had thought that Cora had, but it had all been a lie, all his imagination. She hadn't loved him, she had loved his power. All Milah had ever managed was a look of fondness, back in the early days of their marriage, before the war. Certainly none of the woman he had had later had done so, because they only came to him for his deals and his power. No, nobody had ever looked at him like Belle did, because he had never deserved to be looked upon with love and devotion. And he did not deserve it now, because he was still a coward, still evil and scared and he still made the wrong decisions, and yet, Belle looked at him like he was not.  
  
For a second his old temper got the better of him, and in his fear that she might fool him like Cora had done he wanted to scream and rage again. But he knew that Belle wasn't Cora, and that she could never be as ruthless as that. Besides, Belle wanted him to give up on his power, and wasn't trying to make him use it for her goals. No, Belle had never asked him to do anything for her, not after their deal. The only thing she had asked him was to let go of magic.  
  
And then another memory entered his mind; Belle in the Dark Castle, her nose always in a book. Remembered her retelling him tales of heroes and monsters and true love, and he suddenly understood what she had meant when she talked to Ruby, and why she was looking at him like she did. Belle still thought that breaking his curse would turn him into some kind of hero. She believed that once they were through all this mess of being cursed, that once he found Bae and let go of magic, he would turn into the kind of man that could be deserving of her. And how could she not? It was all Belle knew, that was how it happened in the stories, and they _were_ a story. But theirs was not one with such a happy end; if he ever managed to find Bae and so ensure their safety enough to be able to let go of the power of the Dark One, he would just be Rumplestiltskin again. There would be no magical transformation, no glitter and glory. All there would be would be an old and crippled spinner, maybe not poor anymore but still despised by everyone, and a disappointed Belle.  
  
The pain this realisation sparked in him was so all-consuming that he felt like he was torn apart in two. It wasn't that he doubted her love, because he knew that she loved him. It was the realisation that it was temporary. One day, she would see him for what he truly was, would see something that finally was too much for even her compassion and love, and then she would leave him. And he couldn't even blame her, because truly, what could he offer her? Surely, he was rich now, and she would never want for anything, but he knew that Belle disliked spending his money, and that her independence would always prevent her from taking advantage of it. In the end, it even cost her to be with him. People hated him, and were suspicious of her because of her association with him. Belle had told him that she did not mind, and that most of it probably also was founded on the fact that she had been locked away and been marked as insane, but he knew that it was his stain on her that kept the people at bay. Surely, she had made a few friends here, like Ruby or one of the dwarves. It was hard to resist Belle, once you got to know her. But she still was alone most of the time, and he was the reason for it. And maybe she did not mind it, she hadn't minded back in the Dark Castle. But then she had had no choice, and even Belle's content nature could only handle this solitude for so long. He was used to it, liked it in fact, but Belle... Belle was bright, warm and loving. Solitude would slowly kill her light.  
  
There was nothing he could offer her, except his heart, and that was weak and broken and old and worthless.  
  
And just like that, he knew he couldn't do it. He couldn't wait for the day when he would see the love vanish from her eyes, replaced by the realistation that she had placed her hope in the wrong man, and seeing her leave him on the arms of some other Gaston, more worthy of her than him, but still not worth enough. And even if she didn't realise it, if her heart was big enough to overlook his lackings, life wouldn't be. She would whither next to him, robbed of a live full of happiness and love, and if she didn't slowly come to hate him, he certainly would.  
  
He was not her hero. He couldn't save her, or protect her, because _he_ was the danger in her life. He wa s the reason she had suffered for more than 3 decades, and in this moment he wished to die the most painful death there was, and it still wouldn't atone for his sins. To think of what he had drawn upon her, and what he might get her into if she stayed with him.. No, he couldn't, shouldn't be the center of her life.  
  
He loved her, and because he loved her, he had to let her go.  
  
And so his plan had formed in his head. He would gradually draw away from her, smooth things over and pretend that he got bored of her. He wouldn't hurt her more than necessary. Ease her out of it, slowly letting her go into another life without him, encouraging her to invest her life in her library, and her friends. He would not make any mistakes, would not hurt her any further. Suddenly he had a good idea of what having your heart ripped out felt like. But this wasn't about him. He could take the pain, as long as it meant that Belle would be happy.  
  
So he had started to avoid her, to show disinterest, and to feel numb inside. Belle seemed confused at first, and then sad, and it took him all his strength to stick to his plan. It was like ripping himself apart, and he wanted nothing more than to give in and revel in her love as long as he could. But this was the right thing to do, and for Belle he would for once not do the cowardly thing. For her, he wanted to be brave, to be better, to be the best version there was of him. It felt like being flayed to know that even the best version of him could never be enough.

  
Rumplestiltskin had thought that it would get easier over time, but now he was sitting in his office, days later, and it seemed to him that it only got worse. By now he seemed to consist of pain, both emotionally and physically. Not only had his leg gotten worse and worse, but his turmoil also had also made it impossible for him to eat or sleep properly, resulting in a bone-deep exhaustion and a cramping stomach. He thought it justified.  
  
But he knew that he could not let himself starve as simply as that, because he still had to find his son, so he dragged himself into his kitchen. After forcing down one half of a toast with orange jam he gave up on food and went back to his study were he poured himself a rather generous amount of scotch. Usually he tried not to indulge too much in alcohol, because he needed his wits about him. Now that the curse was broken more so than ever. But he was feeling old and broken and made out of pain, and right now he needed the dull haze more than his wits, so he brought the glass to his lips and emptied it without savouring it's taste. It was a cheap scotch anyway; bought for the purpose of being downed, not enjoyed. 

  
He slumped down on his chair again, waiting for the pleasant buzz that he knew would not help him in the slightest. It hadn't done so yesterday, or the days before.  
  
Turning around, he tried to work a bit more while the alcohol was doing it's work, but every effort proved to be futile. Signing the date on a contract only reminded him that it had been eleven days since he had kissed her for the very last time. Signing his name reminded him why exactly that was the case.  
  
Rumplestiltskin tried to pry his mind from such memories, but found that while he had the strenght to stay away from her for the sake of not hurting _her,_ he couldn't do it to spare himself. As always he found that the memories of Belle were sharp and dull at the same time; overflowing with detail, but still not enough to match reality. He could remember the shade of her lips, had the words, the pictures, but it always lacked something in comparison to reality. In his mind he could almost _feel_ how they felt pressed against his, all warm and soft and pliant, but  it never was enough. She had tasted like iced tea back then, and a faint trace of french fries, when she had kissed him in the dark entry of the library, after he had walked her home from Granny's. He could still feel her hands on his chest.  
  
She had looked at him then, the question plain in her eyes, but he had vowed to let her go. It had taken all his willpower not to follow her upstairs, not to give into her, to let himself drown in her, but he had managed it somehow, reminding himself that while at the moment she thought that he was what she wanted, he'd rather give her as little to regret later as possible. The kiss in itself had already been a mistake, but he was a weak man.   
  
He was shaken out of his thoughts when there was a knock on his door. While he got up he wondered who was foolish enough to disturb him at such a time. Every step pierced through his ankle, and when he reached the door he had half a mind to try if his powers were already strong enough to turn somebody into a slug. However, every biting remark died on his lips when he opened the door and was faced with blue eyes and chestnut hair.  
  
Belle was standing on his porch, eyes wide and face pale and beautiful in the light that fell over his shoulders. Her fingers were clutching her coat, and she was glancing up at him uncertainly, her teeth worrying her lower lip- a habit she had, but that he doubted she was aware of. She looked at him expectantly, and he realised that he had to say something. Realized, why she looked worried, and what he had to do. Suddenly he felt like he had consumed altogether too much and too little scotch. Coughing silently, he carefully closed himself away.  
  
“Belle. I thought you were going to meet Ruby or do something else. I told you I have no time tonight.”  
  
For a moment her face fell, taking his heart with it, but then she beamed up at him and lifted a brown paper bag.  
  


“You said you had no time to go and get dinner, so I thought I'd bring dinner to you. It's grilled cheese from Granny's- they even had avocado”, she explained, smiling, and leaving him feeling like he'd been kicked in the guts. When he failed to respond, she slipped past him and vanished in his house, not waiting for him.  
  
For a moment Rumplestiltskin rested his arm against the doorframe and pressed his forehead against it in despair. This was all so very wrong. She was supposed to stay away, to loathe him, but when had she ever done what he planned? It was one of the things he had come to love about her first, one of the things he admired most. He should have known that it would take more than a few dodged phone calls and cancelled dates to deter Belle. She had always refused to see him for what he truly was, and however wonderful it had been for a brief period of time, now it was hurting her, and it had to end. So he followed her into the house, determined to show her his true face.  
  
When he entered the kitchen she was leaning up on another pair of ridiculously high high-heels that he was sure were only created to torment him, and was reaching for plates in one of his cupboard. When she put them down on the kitchen counter, she turned around to look at him while she reached for the bag with the sandwiches. He opened his mouth to tell her that is wasn't necessary to make such a fuss when she suddenly started talking again.  
  
“Well, you said you only had time to grab a bite in between. So I thought you'd like to take a little break and enjoy a grilled-cheese with me. I even brought iced tea..” , she informed him while she put their food on the plates, her back to him.  
  
Iced tea. She had tasted like iced tea the last time they had kissed.  
  
Belle broke off when she turned around and looked at him, the smile slipping from her lips, eyes locking with his. He felt like falling apart, and she was standing in his kitchen, trying to spend time with him, and he was old and tired and weak. Surely it would not hurt her if he let her stay for a while?  
  
Giving in, he nodded, shoulders sagging with the breath that left him.  
  
“Fine. I think a short break won't hurt.”  
  
She sighed and smiled at him.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
He was sure that he was going to regret this later, but it was too late to go back now, so he simply nodded towards the coat she was still wearing, and stretched out his hand.  
  
“Are you going to wear this all evening?”  
  
Belle let out a feeble “Oh...”, and for a moment she looked insecure and doubtful. Before he could wonder what had made her feel insecure though, she turned around and slid the coat of her shoulders in a quick motion, and the world ended.  
  
The first thing he saw was skin. Belle's back, bared to his eyes, every inch he had never looked upon uncovered for his gaze. This was the most of her he had ever laid eyes on, and he took it greedily like the monster he was. Her naked skin was framed by white, creamy silk that fluttered around her shoulders and down her sides, making her skin glow. Her hair was kept out of the way in a loose braid that rested on her shoulder to give him a good view of her back. A back that was free of any bra straps. But what caught his attention more than the naked skin or the evident lack of underwear was the gold chain she was wearing. It was long and thin, simple and without any further ornaments, and it ran all the way down her back. It almost looked as if somebody had poured molten gold down her delicate spine. It was like the throne room all over again, gold on her skin, Belle in his colour. He digged his fingernails into his palms.  
  
When she turned around he could see her face, all hope and fear and tinted cheeks, and he realised that this was not something Belle would usually wear. No, she had chosen this inentionally: She was trying to seduce him. _Belle_ was trying to...  
  
The thought left him slightly dizzy and despaired. There were only two possibilities; either he took her coat and left her to get his body under control, or he took a step towards her and took her in his arms like every cell of his body wanted to do. Rumplestiltskin took her coat and fled into the hall.

  


After he hung her coat on the rack he took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. Behind his eyelids bare skin and golden links shimmered.  
  
Rumplestiltskin supposed that after everything he had done, he was deserving of this fate. How else could this beautiful, honest and respectable woman stand in his kitchen, trying to win him- as if she had not, did not do so every second she lived- and be so utterly unreachable for him? How could anyone blame him for being bad, when being good was so utterly _hard?  
  
_ Speaking of which.. he locked his eyes on the tapestry and tried to will away the images of Belle's naked skin. It was the most he had seen of her so far, and the conditions under which it happened pained him. Seeing any part of Belle unveiled should be accompanied with time and devotion, with care and attention, and not a desperate offering in a brightly lit kitchen. And as always, he was to blame for that. The few times they had shared a bed had been when he had been weak and desperate, and when they had needed each other. Not once had he dared to face her in the light, equally dreading her seeing him and imposing on her by daring to look at her.  
  
And now she was standing in his kitchen, _making_ him look at her, because her naivite and her good heart told her that she loved him and that it was enough. He couldn't save her from him, but maybe he could save her from herself. It was time to up the game, and to end it for once and for all.  
  
The walk back into the kitchen felt like he was walking to his own execution. At least he knew that he was doing the right thing.  
  
He rounded the corner, carefully keeping his eyes away from anywhere lower than her face.  She looked slightly panicked, and before he could say anything she had grabbed the tray with the sandwhiches and was walking past him to the living room, asking him if he wouldn't rather eat there. Without any option, he followed her, and settled himself on the other end of the couch while she set up their plates and glasses. He watched as she arranged everything with unnecessary care, and then taking a bite that was too big, while nervousness radiated off her in waves.  
  
“Have you made any progress today?”, she asked once she had fought down her food.  
  
Bracing himself for what was to come, he took a breath and told her in a detached voice:  
  
“Actually I had other things to do. I planned to work on it later today”, and then he added, his whole body tense: “I'll get to it once you're gone.”

  


Belle choked on her tea, and she looked at him, shocked.  
  
“I hadn't realised I was keeping you from something”.  
  
Looking down on his hands so that he did not need to see her face, he summoned his cold business voice.

  


“ Well, I thought I had made that clear.”  
  
The hiss Belle let out once his words registered sliced through his body like a knife. It was a consolation that he was hurting himself as well. He saw a quick motion out of the corner of his eye, and when he looked up, Belle was standing over him, eyes burning.  
  
“Well, I'm sorry I bothered you. You could have just said that I am not welcome, instead of behaving like an utter arse!”, she shouted at him, growing louder with each word. The change in her shocked him; it wasn't like they had never fought before, but this was a side of Belle he had never seen before. She was halfway through the room before he realised that she was leaving, and that he was too weak to let her go.  
  
“Belle- “ he started, and reached out for her, his stomach knotting around his throat, but she whirled around, her braid hitting her chin with force, as she hissed at him.  
  
“Don't bother.”  
  
And then she was gone.  
  
  
Xxx

  


Rumplestiltskin stared at the empty door, his body numb. He should feel liberated and relieved, because he had succeeded, and Belle was going to live a happy life now. Instead he felt like his chest was constricting, as if his own body tried to suffocate him, and to finally have it over.  
  
In his mind he saw her standing in his kitchen, smiling at him over her shoulder, her bare back turned towards him, and then the light shifted, and the cloth of her top turned into white lace that climbed over her skin, and she was standing in front of an altar, dressed in white, a veil falling over her hair and her beautiful smile directed at the man standing next to her, tall, broad shouldered and handsome. 

  


C ould a cold, dead heart  break?  
  
In his vision, the handsome stranger bent down to press his lips to Belle's, and Rumplestiltskin snapped. Rage racing through his body, he grabbed the end of his cane, and turning around in one fluid motion he crashed it into the coffetable, the beautiful glass plate shattering to pieces. He raised he cane again, beating again and again down on every piece of glass he could find, until the table was irreparably  broken and he was bending over, heaving for breath.  
  
It was like the Dark Castle all over again. She was lost to him and there was nothing he could do. Fate had decided something different for them, and he was cursing his weak heart. He did not mind physical pain, but this? Physical pain could be attended, could be healed. Physical pain could kill you.  
  
A broken heart was a worse and far more unkind fate. There was no way to mend a broken heart. A broken heart would still beat to keep you alive, but it would make every second a living hell.  
  
He had thought that knowing that now she would be happy would be easier than thinking her dead. As always, Rumplestiltskin had been wrong. Knowing that she would go to live her life with someone else, to bear his children tormented him in ways a dead Belle had not, and really, didn't that proove how despicable, how unworthy of her he was?  
  
He felt like he couldn't breathe, and decided that the only way to go on was to empty the bottle of scotch he had started earlier. Discarding his cane in disgust, he limped into the hallway and towards his study. Gathering his glass and the bottle there, he started to make his way back to the living room, to sit there and stare at the shattered remnants of his life, when a vibrant blue caught his eye in the hallway.  
  
Belle's coat, hanging on the rack. She had left it in her hurry to get away from him.  Setting the glas and the scotch down on one of his countless sidetables, he slowly walked towards it, and, in a fit of sardonic despair, took it down from the hanger and into the living room.  
  
When he walked towards the couch, the glass  crunched under his shoes. He sat down disregarding any glass shards that might have fallen onto the cushions, and stroked his thumbs over the blue cloth.  
  
He had seen her so many times in it now, coming out of the library, slipping into his car when he took her on one of their dates, or in the soft light of a lamp on his front porch. Deciding that he was a damned creature anyways, Rumplestiltskin pressed his face into  the fabric .  
  
For long minutes he just sat there, breathing in her scent of roses and books, and allowed himself to feel the pain, shoulders shaking. When he raised his head, the coat was wet.  
  
Deciding that he needed the scotch after all, Rumplestiltskin made to move, only to be d i stracted by something glistening in his peripheral vision and a soft thump sounding from the floor. Leaning forwards, he saw keys lying on the floor, and realised that they must have slipped from the pocket of Belle's coat.  
  
And then he realised that Belle was out there with neither protection from the cold- or, recalling her state of dress, learing eyes- nor any means of getting into her apartment. The thought replaced his pain with fear and worry. He had tried to protect her, and now she was out there, half-naked, cold, and without any means of shelter. Again he had left her unprotected. Paranoia painted him visions of Regina luring in the shadows, ready to snatch Belle away again as soon as he turned his back, and he leapt to his feet. No, he would not let that happen again.  
  
Pocketing her keys and grabbing his own he limped into the hall and out of the house. Without realising that he had forgotten both his cane and her coat he headed for his car, fumbling to get the keys into the lock when he reached it. But his haste to find her made him clumsy, and in the faint light he had difficulties to find the right key. He felt time ticking away with Belle out there on her own, and suddenly he felt like the incapable spinner he always had been, rather than the powerful Mr. Gold. All his pent-up frustration and pain crowded him and in his despair he slammed his fist down on the roof of his car as hard as he could. When he heard a gasp to his right his head shot up and he gazed into the dark street, finally finding Belle there, standing in the shadows, shoulders hunched and small.  
  
“ Belle”, was all he could say, feeling lost and broken. She seemed to steel herself,  her shoulders rising slightly,  before she stepped into the light of the street lamp and looked him in the eyes.  
  
She wasn't crying, but she had been, that much was evident, because her eyes were red and her make-up smudged. Her arms were wound tightly around her, her whole frame shivering violently, and underneath her thin top he could see  her taunt nipples. He wretched his eyes away from her, shame burning through him in way it had never before. Even when she was standing before him, shivering and broken, she was still beautiful to him, and all he could do was stare. He hated himself for the injustice he did her.  
  
“I-”, Belle started, voice hoarse and dying away, and the sound made him flinch. She swallowed noisly, and started again.  
  
“I forgot my coat.” _  
  
_ “I know”,  was the only answer he could come up with, his voice sounding hollow and rough like hers. Because she was looking at him and he felt like he ought to explain why he had come outside, he added:  “ I was going to look for you.”  As soon as the words left his lips he regreted them. Clearly that was not the way to convince her that he did not care for her. Was he ever going to learn?  
  
For a moment, Belle only stared at him, the strangest expression on her face. Then her face lit up with fury like he had never seen it do before.  
  
“Why bother?”, was all she spat at him while she practically ran past him and vanished in the house, leaving him behind in the dark, dumbfounded. His ankle forbade him to follow her as fast as he wanted to, and when he made it through the front door there was no sign of Belle except of her shoes that lay discarded in a corner of the hall, as if she had thrown them there in her rage. He heard a hiss coming from the living room, and while his brain was catching up, he was already moving, only to see that he was too late.  
  
Belle was standing on the broken glass with her bare feet, her coat clutched in her hand. She turned around and stared at him, nostrils flared and eyes bloodshot, make-up and hair deranged. He could  _feel_ the energy that she was creating, the fury that was raging through her. It was like nothing he had seen before, and he knew that he ought to something,  _anything,_ but all he could do was stare. And then her face fell, and a sob burst through her lips, cutting through him like lightning.  
  
He couldn't just leave her like this. He couldn't.  
  
Raising his hands carefully, slowly, as if approaching a wounded and terrified animal, Rumplest iltskin tried to calm her.  
  
“Belle. Belle, your feet, you have to-”  
  
Belle only clutched her coat to her chest and hissed: “I have to do nothing. You're  _not_ telling me what to do, Rumplestiltskin.” She started to move, and tried to walk past him, but her feet were leaving blood on his carpet, and his arm reached out to stop her.  
  
“No Belle, let me take care of-”, he pleaded, but she interrupted him.  
  
“Fuck off.”  
  
The words hit him like a slap. He never would have thought to hear such a phrase from her. Not from her sacred lips. He stared at her, at this angry and broken woman, and he realised that he had created a Belle that he desperately had tried to protect her from. Again he had failed, and now Belle was paying the price. Rumplestiltskin let go of her arm and looking down, not daring to meet her gaze, he said the only thing that was left to say:  
  


“I'm sorry, Belle.”  
  
She did not answer him. Instead, he watched her feet walk past him, blood glistening were she had stepped.  
  
He stayed where he was, unmoving, because it was too late. Once he had possessed the gift of foresight, but he didn't need it now to know that she would never come back again. Not even Belle would be able to forgive him this. No, he had finally succeeded.  
  
He had won, and he had lost everything. Rumplestiltskin knew it was for the best. He would always have his memories.  
  
But when he tried to recall the last time she had truly smiled at him- the smile that reached over her whole face and lit up her eyes and created that dimple on her cheek\- he couldn't. He couldn't, and that scared him more than anything. And instead of finally stopping, his foolish, treacherous heart started to hammer in his chest, beating so fast as if it could catch up with her and bring her back if it only beat fast enough. Panic rose in him, his only thought that _he had been wrong_ and that it was _too early_ and _not enough, never enough.  
  
_ He couldn't let her go. He couldn't. He had to go and bring her back.  
  
“You have _no_ idea how angry I am right now. In fact, I don't think I've ever been _this_ angry. I suppose if you wouldn't be so practised in being unbearable, and I wouldn't have so little exercise with being angry, I might have noticed it earlier, but as it is, I was too busy cursing you to notice anything else.”  
  
He spun around at the angry sound of her voice, barely catching the doorframe to refrain from falling over. There she was, standing in the hall, staring at him, eyes ablaze.  
  
She came back. Belle had come back to him. _Again_.  
  
When she kept on staring at him he realised that she expected him to say  something. He tried to recall what exactly she had said, only vaguely aware of what she had been saying, because he was focusing on the fact that she was actually around to say something to him.  
  
Licking his lips, he asked: “Notice what?”  
  
Belle took a breath and kept looking at him, her jaw set in the way she always did when she was about to confront him with something he'd rather not admit.  
  
“Notice that while you're doing everything to push me away, you're looking like you don't actually want me to go. As I said, if being angry wouldn't be so new to me, I might've caught on earlier. It's not the first time that you do this to me, after all.”  
  
Guilty, he looked away from her. Again he had underestimated how observant she was, how much she saw and understood. But he couldn't admit it, because then she would stay out of nobility and all would have been for naught.

  


He hadn't noticed that she had moved, but suddenly her hand was touching his shoulder and her face was inches from his, looking at him the way she used to.  
  
“What is going on, Rumple?”  
  
It was the look in her eyes that made him flinch and wretch his shoulder away from her. How could she be so frustratingly trusting and forgiving? He had torn her life to shreds, and here she was stan d ing, asking  _him_ if he was okay! The damn woman needed someone to proctect her from her own naivité.  
  
He needed to make her understand, to make her see what she was dealing with, so he stared her down and spat: “Nothing is going on. This is what I am, Belle.”  
  
Belle stared back, utterly unimpressed. The little crease between her eyebrows appeared that always showed up when she was thinking.  
  
“No”, she replied calmly, “it's not. I know you, Rumplestiltskin.”  
  
Her bold statement hit something in him that send him reeling. Lashing out, he snarled at her, contempt dripping from his voice: “Do you, dearie?”  
  
It was a calculated cruelty, to show her how much distance there was between them, but he should have known better. Belle did not cry, she did not even flinch. Instead, she rose to the challenge like she always had, her eyes glazing over with anger.  
  
“Oh, don't you  _dare_ to dearie me Rumplestiltskin! Yes, I know you. I know you, I love you, and you can try and be as insufferable as you want to, I won't go until I know why you are doing this!”  
  
Her hands were balled to fists and her lips pressed together, and for a moment he could see her in her golden dress, telling him that she had freed Robin Hood.  He turned away.  
  
Now he saw that he had started it all wrong. Belle was t o o brave to simply back off because he tried to push her away. He should have realised it earlier, but instead he had counted on the fact that she would act the way that would be normal for him. But Belle was too brave to take the easy way out. The only thing she would listen to was reason.  
  
“I'm not trying to be insufferable Belle. _I am_ . And that won't change”, he said, his back to her, hoping that she would finally _hear_ him.  
  
For a moment, it was silent, and then he heard her hiss behind him. He spun around, only to find her clutching the doorframe, her eyes pressed together in pain. He had been to o occupied with his own distress to remember that her feet were bleeding, and wasn't that the reason that she had to leave? Wouldn't a better man remember the pain he had caused her in the first place?  
  
Not that he ever forget what she had suffered because of him. But sometimes it was so easy to forget what she had lived through, because she was so very good at hiding it. At least this injury was one he could simply take care of. One snip of his fingers and she would be alright again, but that was no option. Belle  despised his magic, and would rather walk on torn feet than have him use it on her. But there were other ways.  
  
Again he raised his hand and took a step towards her.  
  
“Belle, please. Sit down and let me take care of your feet”, he pleaded with her.  
  
He could see that she was struggeling with something. Rumplestiltskin guessed it was her pride, and her unwillingness to impose on anybody because of what she considered a weakness.  Then she looked up, jaw set and eyes narrowed.  
  
“I'll make you a deal. I'll let you take care of my feet, if you'll answer my questions honestly.”  
  
His heart hit the floor. He knew that she was determined to get the truth out of him if she resorted to a deal. But this was his territory, and maybe he could make sure that her feet were okay without telling her anything he did not want to. There were, after all, ways to evade the truth and to distract her from the important questions.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he answered: “Deal.”  
  
Rubbing his face, he decided that whatever was going to happen, the priority was to get her feet clean and bound.  If she wanted to deal with him, he would make sure that he got his part of it first.  
  
Pointing at her, he said: “ “You sit down and I'll go and get everything.”

  


Belle nodded, seemingly content not to start her interogation for now, and started to walk towards the sofa. By instinct his hand shot out, catching her arm and stopping her. A small part in him registered with relief that she did not flinch when he touched her. Under his fingers, her skin was cold as ice, and only now he noticed how badly she was shivering. Belle didn't even seem to be aware that she was shaking. She was only looking up at him, waiting for an explanation as to why he had stopped her.  
  
“Use the armchair,” he instructed, voice rough and eyes not quite meeting hers. With a look of confusion, Belle peeked around him, paling visably when she learned the fate of the coffeetable. On edelicate eyebrow arched, she looked up to him, but he evaded her her questioning look by turning around and retriving his cane from where he had abandoned it earlier.  
  
When he turned around, Belle was sitting on the armchair, feet resting on the ground instead of the footstool. He could barely refrain from rolling his eyes, because he knew that she simply didn't want to ruin more of his furniture. Rumplestiltskin grabbed a blanket, and draped it around her shoulders, all the time avoiding her skin carefully. Wordless, he straightened and made his way towards the stairs, feeling her eyes on his back. He was glad that she couldn't see him when he fought his way up the stairs and into his bathroom. On his way there he grabbed a small tray out of one of the cupboards in the hallway, placing it on the edge of his bathtub.   
  
He walked towards the cabinet above his sink, were he stored basic medical supplies, when his reflection caught his attention. He hesitated. And then, he did something he had not done in -oh, a century? Rumplestiltskin _looked.  
  
_ Seeing his face always left him with a strange feeling of detachment. In those first decades of his life he had hardly seen it at all, albeit in the reflection of a lake or a cup of water. There was little opportunity or reason for a poor spinner like him to look at his face. Whenever he did, he had never liked what he saw; a face that was not handsome and looked to much like his father, a face that showed the hardship of his life, a face filled with fear and cowardice. A face that was made to face downwards.  
  
Then, when he had become the Dark One, mirrors were fairly easy to come by, yet still he avoided them- his primary reason being that he absolutely did not care for anyone to spy upon him. But he knew that truly he did not want to look at them because he did not want to see his face, a face that had changed so much that in ways did not feel like his own, and in other felt more like his than his natural one ever had. A face that was that did not look like his fathers at all, green and scaled and eyes too big, a face filled with malice and contempt; but free of fear or hesitation. A face that saved and sacrificed his son. A face that was made to face upwards.  
  
And then the curse struck, and for three decades his reflection was nothing but ordinary to him, because he had no idea who he was. Now, his face was all and nothing. Mr Gold was a strange mixture of the spinner and the Dark One; with the face of the fromer, but the expression of the latter. Three identities that all felt like him and not like him at all.  
  
The only thing that had remained through the years had been the face of a coward. No curse, no breaking of it could change that. The only fact that remained was that no matter which face he wore, he would never be right for her.  
  
Not being able to hold his own gaze any longer, he buried his face in his hand and braced himself on the sink. In his mind, he saw her face, smiling at him. It showed her character like an open book, her intelligence shining in her eyes, her curiosity in the way her eyebrows always seemed to be slightly raised in wonder, her kindness in the gentle smile she usually wore on her lips. He could also see her stubbornness, her resourcefullness and her innocence. The only thing that had changed slightly over the years was the naivité in her eyes, it's light dimmed by abduction, imprisonment and whatever else might have happened to her in those years.  
  
He had seen the occasional scar, nothing that could count as clear evidence of torture or any form of abuse, but whenever he asked her about them, she had brushed it off and said that it was a part of her past that she wanted to leave behind her. He knew that she mainly did it to spare him, and to keep him from going after Regina.  
  
Once Belle left him, there would be nothing to stop him from doing so.  
  
But it wouldn't be enough. Regina might have been the one to inflict the pain, but he had been the one to cause it. Belle had been used to hurt him, and he had been the one to teach Regina how to go about it best. He might draw Regina's death out over a century, and it still wouldn't atone for what Belle had suffered. Beautiful Belle, who was brave enough to love a monster, who only ever had kind thoughts for everyone, who was all that was good in the world. Broken Belle, who still sometimes woke from nightmares, crying in the dark.  
  
The first time he had witnessed it had been in the early morning hours after the curse broke, muffled sobs invading his dreams, dragging him back into reality. He'd woken, heart racing and expecting curses and magic, Regina and foolish heroes or whatever coming for him, but what he'd found was Belle, curled into a ball beneath the sheets, fingers digging into her shivering arms, crying in her sleep. There were no screams or pleas- if there had been, Regina would not have seen the sunrise again- but in a way, her silent tears were worse. It was a testimony of the silent torment she had lived through for decades, and seeing her so broke him in ways that the news of her supposed death had not. 

  
“Rum? Are you alright?” , Belle's voice called from downstairs. Rumplestiltskin realised that he had stood there unmoving for quite a while, lost in his thoughts. When he straightened up, pain shot through his ankle, and he gritted his teeth.  
  


“On my way”, he called, voice slightly hoarse. He openend the cupboard and took one of the strong painkillers, filled up the glass that always stood ready for this reason, and swallowed it, before he started to get everything he needed for Belle's feet.  
  
While he was getting different things out of the cupboard, his thoughts drifted back to that first night. He had held her while she had wept, not being able to stop even when she woke. Belle had told him that it was more the fear of going back there than anything else, and that she would be fine after a while. When she finally calmed down again, and sunk back into sleep, he had stayed awake, tears running over his face. The next day he had worked tirelessly until he had crafted an enchanted talisman that would keep the nightmares away. At first, Belle had tried to protest, but when he had pleaded with her she had accepted it. After that, she had not cried again. He couldn't turn back time and keep her from being hurt, but at least he could keep her from hurting further. It was the same with her feet. It was the same with everything. Belle would not hurt further.  
  
Finally having everything that he needed, he made a short detour into his bedroom, grabbing a pair of his socks. Then he slowly made his way downstairs, trying to figure out how to proceed. For the first time ever, he wished that his staircase was longer, and when he stepped into the living room he still had no idea what to do. To buy some more time he avoided her eyes as he placed the tray next to the armchair she was sitting in. Without a word he straightened and went into the kitchen, were he busied himself with selecting a large bowl and filling it with warm water. Balancing the bowl gave him another excuse not to look at her, and miraculously he made it over to her without spilling a single drop. When everything was in place, he pulled the footstool she had ignored closer to him, and, twisting his knee awkwardly to put as little weight on his ankle as possible, he sat down in front of her. He could feel her eyes on him when he slowly bent forward and eased her foot out of her cold hands. When he looked down, he gritted his teeth. Her soles were torn, dozens of little cuts framing a few deeper ones. Between the fresh and the dried blood he could see glass glittering in the light, and some of the cuts were coloured dark where she had stepped into dirt when she had left the house earlier. Walking had to be harder for her now than it was for him, and still, she had walked out without wincing.  
  
 _Still, she had come back to confront him._

  


He ran his thumb lightly over her wounds, barely touching her, and he felt so utterly lost. He was sorry for so many things- for hurting her, for not being enough. She had to know that.  
  
“I'm sorry for this Belle. I don't know how to make this up to you.”, he whispered, head bent. He wondered if she would know that he meant more than her feet. She probably would. His Belle was bright.  
  
“By explaining why”, she whispered her answer, and touched his fingers tentatively. How could he do that? She would refuse the truth outright, not wanting to believe it. There was no way to tell her. Rumplestiltskin gave no answer, and instead bowed down to pick up the tweezers he had brought, thus breaking their touch.  
  
“This will hurt a bit”, he informed her in his formal voice, and he thought he heard her sigh. When she didn't say anything, he leaned over her foot and concentrated on his task. For a moment there was nothing to hear but their steady breaths and the occasional clink of glass shard that he dropped into a little bowl he had brought down with him. Only when he ran his finger over her skin to check if he had missed anything and contend when he could not find any remnants of glass,did he realize that Belle was strangely silent. He would have expected her to start her investigation right away. Belle had always been full of questions, and now she had even more reason. Had even dealed with him for her answers.  
  
He glanced up at her, while examining her foot with his fingers, and found her staring at his hands. His heart started hammering in his chest as he saw her expression, eyes glazed over and miles away, and a look of yearning written across her features. A look of.. _desire,_ he realised, dazzled. How could she..? He looked down at his hands on her feet. Not in a million years would he have thought of her in such a way when she was hurt, and yet, now that he had seen the way she had looked at his hands, all he could see were his fingers on her skin.   
  
It had been so very long since the last time he had touched her, and suddenly all his desire for her hit him with incredible force.Before he had met her, he had thought he had known desire, had thought it had little control over him. Now he felt like every cell in his body was aching to be close to her.  
  
Slowly, unforgivabl y, he ran his finger over the expanse of her foot, and raised his eyes to her. When she met his eyes, she gasped, eyes widening. He could see it all in her eyes; surprise and wonder, hurt and desire. He could see the moment hope and love won out, and he wanted to shout at her _not to trust him._ Instead, he forced his eyes away, breaking the moment. He leaned down and concentrated on putting the antiseptic into the water, trying to get a hold of all the emotions raging inside him. After he had gently placed her foot in the water he took up her other foot and started to clean it.  
  
Again, they were silent while he worked, and he was glad that he had centuries of pratice of losing himself in a task. When he was finished, he shortly ran his fingers over her sole, this time without lingering, and put her feet down in the basin, standing up without making eyecontact and bringing a few steps of distance between them.  
  
“It's best if we wait a few minutes for the anitseptic to work” ,  he told her, casually glancing at his clock without seeing anything. He heard her sigh. Now she would probably start with her questions, and he would need to keep her from asking the right ones.  
  
“Do you love me?”, Belle's voice cut through the silence. Rumplestiltskin's heart leapt to his throat. So much for that. He should deny it, should lie to her, but they had made a deal, and he had promised her to be honest. And he realised that he wanted her to know. He wanted, no matter what happened, that she knew that he loved her. And didn't that show how weak he was? But it didn't matter; he had no choice. He had made a deal, and Rumplestiltskin never broke a deal.  
  
Looking down at his clenched fists, he answered: “Yes.”  
  
And then, because it felt too little, because he needed her to _know,_ because he could not hold it in any longer, now that she was learning the truth anyway, he looked up and met her eyes, without holding anything back.  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
Belle gasped slightly, relief spreading over her face. Then she smiled.  
  
“I'm glad. I love you, too, you know?”  
  
Relief and despair hit him equally, and groaning he turned away from her. One part of his brain asked itself however he should protect her if she simply refused to see him for what he was, while the other part drowned in the fact that _she still loved him.  
  
_ When he turned around, Belle held out her hands, beckoning him towards her. Not being able to stay away any longer, not when she called him, he took them and sat down in front of her again. Belle did not let go of his hands.  
  
Instead she looked at him, eyes soft.

  
“Tell me what's going on Rumple”, she said to him, and stroked a thumb over his hand.  
  
He snorted. “That's not a question.”  
  
Because she was Belle, she understood.  
  
“No,” she replied, shaking her head and smiling sadly, “ It's a plea.”  
  
Rumplestiltskin stared at her, as the words sunk in. She had just given him the easy way out, concsiously forgoing their deal. Because Belle _trusted_ him. She trusted him to tell her, because she still, after all he had done tonight, believed that there was something good in him.  
  
Instead of the  ex pected bitterness a pain hit him that was so consuming that it forced the air out of his lungs. It took him a moment to understand what it was, but when he looked at her face he realised that it was yearning. In that moment, Rumplestiltskin wished with every fibre of his being that it could be true, that there could be something in him that she could love, something that would be deserving of her. But there wasn't, and the knowledge felt like an ember sitting in his chest, making it impossible to breathe a s  pain surge d through him.  
  
He wanted to tell her, but when he turned to look at her, sitting there, feet in the basin and naked legs disappearing in a blanket, crowned by disheveld hair  a nd red eyes, she looked so fragile, so lovely, that the words turned to ashes in his mouth, leaving a bitter taste. He couldn't tell her. It was better to fail her because he was evil, than to fail her because he was  _weak._   
  
His answer came rushed and choked.  “I can't, Belle I-... I can't.”  
  
Belle looked at him, confused, and contemplated his answer for a second.  
  
“You can't what? Tell me?”  
  
He shook his head.  It was too much, and not enough, and  he  felt so helpless.   
  
“Everything.”  
  
“I don't understand”,  Belle confessed. She had never found it a weakness to ask.   
  
“No. No you don't” ,  he answered, and how could she?  He was not sure that  _he_ understood completely. For days now he had the nagging feeling that he was missing something essential in all of it.   
  
He looked down and realised that her feet were still in the basin, the water probably cold by now. Relieved to have found something to do, he sat down and took the towel to dry off her feet. Then he placed the towel on his knees, and her feet on top of it.  Belle watched him silently as he leaned forward to take the balm from the tray on the floor.  Just before his fingers touched it, his tie slipped from his leg and dipped into the water. He cursed and sat up again, not meeting her eyes while she was trying to surpress a giggle and he was struggling to rip the tie from his throat without dripping on his trousers. Somehow such things always seemed to happen when Belle was around, and he hated it.  
  
Coughing to cover up his embarrassment, he bent down again, now without his treacherous tie, and took the balm in his hands. Again silence settled over them as he gently rubbed it into her skin. When he felt it was enough he grabbed the bandages he brought with him and started to bind her wounds carefully. When he had been the Dark One there had been no necessity for any medical attentions, but it was apparently a skill that stayed with you, even over the centuries. A shattered ankle and a reputation that kept every healer from you made it a necessity to become aquainted with the arts of healing. Not that he regretted it. His practise had spared Bae one or the other infection or scar. To take care of someone again was strangely comforting.  
  
When he was almost finished with her second foot, she interrupted his silent musings.  
  
“Why did you come after me this time?”,  she asked, voice soft and curious.  
  
It wasn't a question he had expected. He looked up at her, confused. “Pardon?”   
  
“The last time you got so angry with me that you shattered your furniture, you let me go when I went. Why did you come after me this time?”, she clarified, voice indifferent.  
  
He whinced slightly. So she had seen the spinning room when she had left the Dark Castle all those years ago. And she probably understood what the glassshards on his carpet meant then. But then again, that hadn't stopped her from leaving the first time, had it? Hope was not lost as long as she realised that she was better off without him. Thinking about the first time she left him, he knew what to say. He could not give her  _the_ truth, but he could give her  _a_ truth.  
  
“The last time I let you go like that you ended up locked away in a basement for decades”, he said, face darkening. But Belle only arched an eyebrow in doubt.  
  
“And you suspected that Regina would be after me again the moment I left the house?”

  
He looked away. Deterring Belle had never been as easy as he would have wished sometimes. He tried another truth.  
  
“I wouldn't write it off as impossible. But mostly I know what scum roams the streets at night. And I also know just how much luck you have, and that you didn't have your keys with you.”  
  
“I think you just didn't want me to go.”

  
Her bold declaration sent him reeling, rushing through his body and making him jump. Instinctively, he tried to bring a few steps between them, only to be stopped by the sharp pain that shot through his ankle at the sudden strain. Stumbling, he gripped the back of the sofa, in that moment hating this symbol of his weakness with all his heart.  
  
Then Belle spoke again, her voice suddenly strained and unsure.  
  
“Tell me what's going on Rumple. Please. “ she pleaded, and then choking a bit: “ Tell me why you don't want me any longer.” 

His head shot up, like he had been slapped. Anger and despair rose in him at the thought that she felt like he did not want her anymore. He carefully chose to ignore the voice that whispered: _You tried to make her believe that i_ _n_ _the first place. Congratulations, Rumplestiltskin, you succeeded._  
  
“Don't say that. This isn't about me. This isn't about what I want”,  he hissed at her.  
  
“Then what is this about? Me?”  
  
He turned around, rubbing his face in despair. He looked down at her, that trusting look on her face again that for reasons he couldn't understand turned his insides into knots. After everything she still trusted him, and she had no idea who she was trusting. No idea what price she was going to pay. Without thinking, he said:  
  
“You have no idea who I am Belle. You have no idea what you are getting yourself into.”  
  
Belle looked at him, dumbfounded. After several moments of silence, she answered him, shaking her head lightly.  
  
“Rum, unless you've left out parts of your history, I know perfectly well who you are. Even if you did, I still know you. I've seen you deal, I've seen you ready to kill, I cleaned your clothes of the blood of your prisoners! How, _how,_ could I not know what I am getting myself into?!”   
  
And then, without warning, something in him snapped, and he started to shout.  
  
“Because you don't! Sometimes I think you look at me and you don't really see me. You say you see good in me, but there is none left Belle. I destroy the things I love. I have always been this way, and that won't change! You read all these stories and get all these ideas, and I'm not- I'm not- I won't- Don't you see Belle?! Nothing good can come out of this! Because this here, this is all I have to offer, and you deserve more than that, you know that as well as I do! And I won't change, I won't turn into some man that could make you happy. I'm a monster, and if I'm not, I'm nothing. Why can't you understand that?! It will not happen! ”  
  
Belle stared at him, shocked. Then, tentatively, she asked:  
  
“What will not happen?”  
  
He snarled. Why couldn't she _understand?_  
  
“Me turning into a Prince Charming! This isn't one of your stories Belle! And as much as I wish that I could be enough to deserve you, it won't happen. There is no day in the future to which we have to make it. Breaking my curse won't be our happy ending. Not even your kiss can change me into anything other than I am- there will be no hero for you, there will only be this, an old man with a limp, broken and evil and a coward!”  
  
He was out of breath and his head was spinning. He knew what she was going to say, but she was wrong.  She knew of his past, yes, but she did not _know_ his past. Did not know the man he was, afraid and weak and kissing boots in the dirt. Poor and hungry, and  incapable of defending his boy. How could she ever love _that_ ? The only one who ever had was Bae, sweet little Bae who looked at his papa with the idealised love of a child. It felt the same with Belle, as if she did not see him at all,  as if she saw someone else instead, and it _hurt._  
  
And suddenly it hit him what he hadn't understood, what had evaded him the whole time. Like an apple dangling in the air before him, and when he finally reached it, it broke open, revealing rotten flesh and worms. Suddenly he could see it, the whole, ugly truth.  
  
 _It was not enough._  
  
It was not enough that she loved the monster. That she had seen him do evil and still loved him enough to break his curse. Because that was only a part of him. The three faces- Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, and Mr. Gold, all were him, and Belle did not see them, couldn't see _him._ Belle, who lived half her life between pages, w here monsters turned into princes and cowards found their courage, saw the monster and hoped. She loved him, he did not doubt that, but she didn't love _him,_ because she could not understand who he was.  
  
And it was not enough.  
  
It was not enough that she loved a part of him. He wanted her to love all of him.  
  
It was horrible, it was selfish, and it left him feeling empty, but it was the truth. In the end, he was just a worthless coward, who couldn't be happy with what he had.  
  
It was the truth, and it was burning his insides as if he had swallowed acid. He hated himself for blaming her, because it was not her fault. But in that moment it felt like it was. The selfish creature inside him resented him, resented her, because it- _he_ was not enough. It was like a floodgates had been opened; anger and despair rushing through him, shaking him, and he wanted to take his cane again, to shatter and trash everything around him, because he did not know what else to do, to feel...Meeting her eyes, he told her that he knew the truth:  
  


“I know what you think. You think because you could fall for the monster, it will be enough. But beneath the monster, in the very core, I'm only a feeble, incapable spinner, who can offer you nothing. You think that if you love me enough, it will change me, that I will turn into this idealised version of me that you've constructed in your head-”  
  
“You seem to have an awful lot of ideas what I am thinking. You know Rumplestiltskin, if you would've just cared to _ask,_ you might've spared us this mess”, Belle's voice interrupted him harshly.

  


She looked determined and angry. In a fit of despair he couldn't help but snort.  
  
“Don't try to tell me that you think differently. I know what I have to offer, and apart from magic, there isn't much.”  
  
“I beg to differ”, Belle said, jaw set.  
  
“That's what you say now”, he spat,  but with less vigour than before. His head fell, anger gone. No energy left to hold it in,  he told her the rest:  
  
“One day you will notice that I have nothing to offer you except pain and grief. My magic might be able to protect you, but it's the thing that endangers you in the first place. I am the reason you have been tortured and locked away! I would tear the world apart to protect you Belle. I would kill them all without batting an eye, and the cost would be your love. Don't you see Belle?! I can't protect you! I can't save you! I can't be the center of your life, and therefore it's better if we end it now, before it is too late!”  
  
  


When he finished, he looked at her. Belle stared at him, brows furrowed and lips open. She didn't respond immediately, and he could see dozens of different emotions flit over her face, most of them gone too quickly to grasp. What he could see clearly was anger, and pain.  Because he was a coward, he looked away. Silently he waited for her answer, for her to deny it fiercely, or maybe, hopefully, horribly, to agree with him. Instead, she surprised him again.  
  
“Did I ask you to?”  
  
He looked up, confused.  Belle stared at him with an determined expression she might've worn in battle.  
  
“Sorry?”,  he said, incapable of coming up with anything else.   
  
She took a deep breath, and stared him down.  
  
“Did I ask you to protect me from you? Did I ask you to save me? Did I ask you to be the center of my life?”  
  
He stared at her, and tried to process her question.  
  
“N-no. No you didn't”, he said,confused.  No, she hadn't. Not with words. But that was what a woman wanted from her... lover, was it not? His heart  clenched  when he realised that maybe she did not want  _him_ to be that, to do that. But when he looked at her raised eyebrows, the exact same defiant look she had given him so many times in the Dark Castle, he realised that was not what she meant. She meant that she did not want or needed anyone for that, because Belle was  capable of all that herself . Wasn't that what he admired most about her? But  if that wasn't what she wanted from him, what  _did_ she want? He had assumed... he had assumed that that was what she must want, because it was what everybody else wanted from the person they loved, and by that he had done her wrong again.

  


He almost met her eyes when he said:  
  
“Maybe that was a bit presumptious of me.”  
  
Belle nodded.  
  
“It was.”, she said, and his heart clenched. And then she smiled.  
  
“Not too much though”, she said, her voice so soft and forgiving that it sent his heart racing. He couldn't explain why, but suddenly he felt hope- ridiculous hope that everything could somehow work out in the end.  
  
Belle pushed herself out of the chair, her face showing only the slightest sign of pain, and raised a finger, just as he was starting to protest. He fell silent, but when she started to walk towards him slowly, he, too, took a tentative step in her direction and gently caught her at elbows to study her. Seemingly without thinking about it, Belle laid her hands on his chest and looked up to him. Rumplestiltskin was sure she could feel, if not hear his heart hammering in his chest, and just as he started to think that somehow, she was in his arms again, her blue eyes narrowed and pinned him down, as she opened her lips to speak.  
  
“Just to get this clear. You think that I have this idea that I will only have to endure you the way you are until you magically turn into a hero. That I somehow think that falling for a “monster” is romantic, and that I will be rewarded for such bravery, as it happens in the books. And because you think that magic is the only thing valuable about you, and I want you to let go of it, that once you do, all I will find is a lame, worthless spinner, and then I will leave you. So you figured that it would be best for me not to be with you in the first place. Did I get that right?” 

  


Glumly, he nodded, his stomach long  vanished into thin air .  At least she understood rationally what he was trying to say, even when she was to stubborn to acknowledge it emotionally. He frimly ignored the little voice in the back of his head that said that maybe,  _maybe, it just wasn't true._   
  
“Belle, I will either destroy you or disappoint you. I couldn't live with myself- you have to understand-”, but Belle only shook her head fiercely and interrupted his explanation.  
  
“No. No, Rumplestiltskin. _You_ have to understand. You said it before; this isn't about you. This also isn't about me. It's about  _us._ Both of us!” By now her hands had grabbed the colar of his shirt tightly, as if to ensure that he was listening. Again, he tried to reason with her.

  


“I _know_ that you think I can be enough Belle. But over time you will see that I'm not-”, but Belle only laughed bitterly, a sound he had only heard once in a dungeon under his castle.  
  
“So you just went and made that decision for me? Because of something that _might_ happen? Rumple, what was the very first thing you learned about me?” 

  


The question took him of guard, and for a moment he was dumbfounded. The first thing he had learned about her? The first thing he had learned was that she was Maurice's daughter. The next thing he had learned was that she was espoused, that she was considered kind but strange, that she read a lot and took great compassion in everyone she met. He had learned that her mother died and that she was the only thing valuable in her fathers life and then, that she was beautiful.

But she didn't know that, so it couldn't be what she meant. Still, she was looking at him, blue eyes searching his, and suddenly she was wearing a golden dress again, demanding that her family and friends be safe, stopping the protest of her father, and then he knew what she meant; the first thing she had told him about her self :  
  
“Nobody decides your fate but you.”  
  
“Exactly”, she said, looking slightly content, but at the same time her hand s left his chest and found his arms instead, fingers digging into his flesh and ankoring him with her words.  
  
“Listen to me Rumplestiltskin: If my kiss can break your curse, do you think that something so trivial as your power could change my love for you? I didn't fell in love with you because of your flourishes and magic tricks. I fell for what I saw beneath; you, you as all you are and can be. I've seen you in your darkest moments and still loved you, because I could see that there was still good in you! Don't you understand, Rumple? I love  _you,_ no matter what you are, just as you loved me when I came to you broken and lost, or as you love me now, when I break your stove and am completely useless. That's why it's True Love! Because I would still rather be at your side in a straw hut with nothing to eat, rather than sitting in a castle without you! Do you truly think me so shallow?!”  
  
Belle gasped for breath,  and his head was spinning.   
  
“And I don't want you to stop using magic because of me, I want it for _you._ Don't you see, Rumple? You want magic to protect what means most to you, but in the end magic takes it from you. I want you to be happy- and as long as you cling to magic, you will keep on making the wrong decisions, and that's why I want you to let go of it! Not because I think breaking your curse will change you into  a  knight in shining armo u r. Your curse isn't the magic; it's the belief that you're worthless without it. And to speak of knights- as it is I was engaged to one. If I wanted that, I could've had it! Instead, I broke the engagement and went with you. I fell in love with  _you_ , and not with Gaston! And when you threw me out, I was coming back to  _you_ , and not to Gaston!”  
  
It was probably the longest speech she had given him to this day, and  he could only stare at her. His brain tried to process what she was saying, while his heart was hammering somewhere in his throat trying to battle reason, and  still somehow his treachorous mind could find the capacity to notice how enticing an agitated Belle looked. But she wasn't done yet.   
  
“Speaking of you killing everyone to protect me- yes, that would cost you my respect. But do you truly think I would just stand idly by and watch you do that?”  
  


And he could see it in his mind, how Belle would fight him to the last second,  _for_ him, and how she would walk away if he'd do it anyway, because -and how could he have been so blind?-  although Belle fought like a lion, Belle didn't settle for less than she thought she deserved.  
  
“No”, he said,  his heart stuttering , “no, you wouldn't.”

  


“Exactly!”, Belle said hotly, shaking his shoulders lightly.  
  
“First off because it isn't right, and second because I can't bear to think what this would do to you. Don't you see, Rum? I won't one day look at you, see you for what you are, and run away, because I already do. I _know_ what you've done in your past, and although I don't agree with it, I still love you! I know what you've been, and I still love you! You don't have to do anything to be worthy of my heart, because I gave it to you when you weren't even trying to win it! I don't want you to change, I only want you to be happy, and us to be together! All I'm asking of you is to love me, and to try to make the right decisions. Can't you do that? Can't you trust me to be strong enough to love you? Can't you believe me? Because I love you, and you can't just go and change that you moron! I love you-”

  
And then she stopped, because suddenly he was kissing her. He knew he was too rough and quite impolite by silencing her like this, but hearing her insist that she loved him, despite his flaws, hearing her declare that  she  knew him and  _still_ wanted him destroyed his self-restraint. After weeks of denying himself any touch or closeness to her, having her standing inches from him and declaring that she was intent on staying with him, was too much, and his body reacted before he could think.  For a moment, part of him regretted having cut of her sweet words, but then Belle let out at rugged breath and started kissing him back, her arms sliding up to lock around his neck, pinning her body to his, and all coherent thought was gone. His hands left her face, one to go around her waist, the other to slide into her hair at the back of her head, catching in the last remains of her braid.  For a moment the world stepped aside to make space for the sounds of hurried breaths, the sliding of skin against skin, the clacking of meeting teeth and a gasp of pain. The last startled him, since he felt it didn't belong there. Confused he withdrew from Belle and blinked his eyes a few time, focusing on her bent face and her tense shoulders. His brain supplied him with the memory of weight pressing down on his shoulders. She must've risen on her tiptoes during their kiss, putting pressure onto her sore feet.  He expected the regret to come back, but it didn't. Then he remembered that their kisses usually had that effect.   
  


“You shouldn't be on your feet, sweetheart.” 

  


She looked surprised for a second, and when he placed his hand under her elbow to lead her back to the armchair he saw a small smile spread over her lips. Wondering what he'd done, he carefully sat down on the footstool in front of her, and gathered her feet in his lap again. He made sure that the bandages were still in place before bowing down to retrieve a pair of his socks that he carefully pulled over her feet. While his hands were busy, Rumplestiltskin contemplated what to tell her.

  


_The truth,_ he decided _. That's what she asked for._

_  
_ Swallowing the lump in his throat, he looked into her eyes.

  


“I have to apologize Belle. Again. I thought I was doing the right thing- but isn't that what I always do? I am trying Belle. I truly am. You make me wish to be a better man than I am, but I fear that I will always be the man that makes the wrong decisions.”, he said to her, voice thick and rough. “It's not that I don't trust you; I don't trust myself. Nobody except Bae has ever loved me for what I am, and look what happened... It would be better for you not to love me. But I see now that I did you wrong by taking that decision from you. It's just... You terrify me Belle. I love you, darling, more than I can say, but you terrify me. You shouldn't love me. You shouldn't forgive the things I do. And yet here you are.. and I don't know what to do. And it's killing me Belle. I want you to be happy, too. And I tend to stand in the way of that. So I tried to send you away... but I couldn't. You were right. I tried to let you go. But I'm a selfish creature.”  
  
Instead of swaying her, his intesity only brought a little smile to her lips.  
  
“I'm glad” she whispered, and he groaned. That woman had similarly more and less sense than any person he'd ever met.  
  
His exasperated groan only made her laugh. She leaned forward to cradle his face with her hands.  
  


“You're not getting rid of me that easily, Rumplestiltskin. I'm not going anywhere.”  
  
Again he was filled with awe and shame in the face of her bravery and kindness. He would never be worthy of her. But he would try to be every day for the rest of his life. He raised his hand and eyes to hers.  
  
“I'm sorry. I told you I am a difficult man to love.”  
  
Belle didn't disagree.  
  
Then she looked up again, eyes narrowed, mouth open and lips curved in that familiar way that always announced one of her questions. Mostly one that would get him into trouble.  
  
“Was this the reason you never...”, but then her cheeks turned red and her eyes shied away as she let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished.  
  
“The reason I never did what, sweetheart?”, he asked, curiously eyeing her pink cheeks. Sometimes it was easy to forget that there were things Belle thought she should be afraid talking of.  
  
For a moment she left him without an answer. Then her shoulders tightened, and she looked up, although Rumplestiltskin had the feeling that she was actually talking to his right earlobe instead of his face.  
  
“ I was wondering if all those thoughts had been the reason that you... that you refused to let me see you- all of you, when we were... together.” , came her rushed answer.  
  
 _Ah._ Of course she'd noticed. He hadn't wanted to impose on her, had wanted to spare her the sight, and truthfully, had been to cowardly to show himself to her, even though she had tried to undress him several times. And while her desire to see him soothed his soul, his fear of her reaction to actually _seeing_ him was too strong, and so he had evaded her hands and distracted her with his.  
  
“I...”, he started, his voice silent and his throat dry, ”There's nothing worth looking at Belle. I wanted to spare you” , he said.  
  
“Oh”, Belle answered in a small voice, “ I thought...”  
  
“Thought what?”  
  


Belle took a deep breath, and looked down at their hands, evading his eyes.  
  
“I was afraid that maybe... maybe it was me you didn't want to see” 

  


Again, dread wrapped his icy fingers around his insides.   
  
“ _Belle, “,_ he gasped, reaching for her hands _,”_ oh Belle, don't think that. _Never_ think that I don't want you. How could I possibly not want you?” 

  


She shrugged her shoulders timidly.  
  
“Well, I know that love and lust dont always walk hand in hand... You have lived for so long, I thought that maybe... and I neither know what I am doing, nor have I particularly much else to offer”, she motioned towards her bosom,” I thought maybe you just didn't want me in that way, and you were only indulging me”, she finished in a small voice.  
  
He choked, shaking his head. Would there ever be anything that he'd do right? Again he had tried to decide for her, and again, she had been hurt. It didn't even occur to him that she might interpret his reluctance that way, because thinking that way was simply _ridiculous._ But Belle was not him, and Belle was as insecure about them as he was, and again he had been to daft to consider her point of view. And now she thought _he did not want her._  
  
  
“I'm doing every thing wrong, am I not? I try to do the right thing, and you end up thinking that I don't want you. Believe me Belle, I do want you. Oh, how I want you”, he said, voice desperate for her to believe him. He had to make this right.   
  
At that she looked up at him again, unsure at first, then with a slight smile.  
  
“It seems you're not the only one who has to work on his self-esteem.” she said sheepishly.  
  
He grunted. “It seems”, he agreed, shaking his head. “It was hard enough to see your _ankles_ back in the Dark Castle, and now you taunt me with high heels and bare legs, with dipping necklines and lace dresses and _exposed backs-_ it takes every ounce of selfcontrol I have to refrain from stripping every bit of fabric from your skin so that I can finally see you.”, he confessed, all his frustrations pouring out of him. He realised that his fear of scaring her away had been replaced by the fear of losing her for closing himself of. If he had to loose her, it wouldn't be because he had failed to give her what she wanted, he vowed to himself.  
  
And he _wanted_ he r to see, he realised. Wanted her to understand what exactly she did, what exactly she meant.  
  
“Then why didn't you?” her voice interrupted his thoughts. Wasn't it obvious?  
  
“Belle”, he said, grasping her hands, “ sweetheart, you have been locked away for thirty years. You have never done this before. You deserve more than some fumbling old pervert, staring at you. You're too precious for that. I wanted to spare you... “, he explained, but Belle cut him off, impatiently.  
  
“And it never occurred to you that I might feel the same way about you?”, she asked. He didn't answer her. It hadn't. Of course it hadn't. He could see in her eyes that she could guess the answer. Her fingers freed themselves and wrapped around his, reversing their grip.  
  
“Because I do, Rumple, I do. And you're right, I've been locked away for thirty years. Thirty years that I waited for you. Thirty years I missed you, thirty years I wished to touch you..”, her voice trailed off, but then her eyes got this determined look, and she continued; “Thirty years without any touch but my own. Thirty years of imagining it was _you_ touching me instead. Thirty years of imagining what you would look like would I undress you, or what your skin would taste like. What _you_ would taste like.”  
  
He choked. His brain tried hard to understand her point, but to his shame all he could think of what her words implied. Her hands on her body, _touching_. Images he hadn't dared to think about for a long time flooded his brain, but Belle grabbed his arms again, recalling his attention.  
  
“ I was so afraid to go to sleep every night. Not because of the nightmares. Because it mean that another day was over that I hadn't spend with you. My life was running through my fingers, and I was powerless to do anything about it. Don't make me wait longer, Rum, _please_ , don't make me wait longer.”  
  
Her eyes burned into his, pleading, and he looked back, lost for words. His heart was racing in his chest, soaring, dying, he wasn't exactly sure. He was never sure what exactly he felt with her. Love. He knew that much. Blinding, bursting, burning love, but also so much more, things he couldn't understand or put into words. Lost, overwhelmed, all at once. How could he ever give her anything when she simply turned him into a stumbling fool everytime she was close to him? He should do something, should say something. He openend his mouth. What could you respond to such a plea?  
  
But suddenly Belle leaned towards him, and put her hands on his chest, over his heart. A quiet smile stole over her lips as she felt how fast it was beating. And then her hands moved, up, over his shoulders, leaving shivers and trembling in their wake as they made their way up to his hair, over his jaw and down to his throat. Her hands returned to his shoulders, and he could feel her fingers stroking over the collar of his shirt. He murmured her name, and, because he couldn't help himself: “I'm not a pretty sight”. Instead of listening to him her fingers undid the first button and dipped beneath to touch his chest. Only then did she lift her eyes to his.  
  
“Why don't you let me be the judge of that?”  
  
The only response he could form was some sort of sound, groan, hiss- he wasn't sure. Belle pulled her feet from his lap and stood up, her hand pulling him along. When they both stood, her eyes turned stern again and her hand grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him to her.  
  
“Promise me that you will never, _never_ again decide such things for me, Rumplestiltskin. Promise me that you will talk about these things with me.”  
  
He licked his lips. “I will try”, he said. It wasn't even intentional. Well, not completely. It was more that 3 centuries of trickery and deceptions brought some habits with them that were hard to get rid off.  
  
But Belle wasn't fooled that easily. Her hands tightened their grip and her eyes glared at him. “No”, she shook her head, “ trying is not good enough. This is something you will _do.”_  
  
For a second, his old defences reeled, but he knew that her was being silly. He sighed and nodded.  
  
“Yes, I will. I promise.”  
  
“Good.” She nodded, and before he could realise what was happening, her hands had released his shirt and she was halfway across the room, heading towards the stairs. Then she stopped and turned halfway around to face him, one eyebrow raised, voice confused: “Are you- are you coming?”  
  
And just like that she was wearing a green cloak again- a cloak he had wrapped around her- and over them the leaves where rustling while his shoulders and cheeks and his heart were strangely warm. There were no woods now, and the back that he was seeing was bare and not cloaked, but the rest remained the same. And like he had done back then, like he had done ever after, he followed her.  
  
He tried not to think, not to worry, too much about what was going to happen, but his heart and thoughts were racing. Somehow he had a feeling that Belle had already made her mind up about that. Now she was climbing up the stairs in front of him, the muscles in her back moving and working, while the goldchain was slowly whipping softly against her skin. He watched it, entranced. Rumplestiltskin endured full four clashes of skin and necklace before his already thing selfcontrol was worn out. She could have her way with him if she wanted, but before that he needed.. anything. He'd been more or less successfully fighting an erection for the past half an hour, and if she wanted to have anything from this evening, he needed to warm up. Besides, he thought, she had worn this outfit with precisely that intention.

  


Before she could get too far up the stairs for him to keep up, his hands reached out and caught her around her waist, gently pulling her back towards him. For a second her body went tense, anticipating to fall, but he had her safely. Rumplestiltskin pressed his lips against her left shoulderblade, and almost immediately all the tension went out of her body with an audible gasp.  
  
“Don't move” , he whispered into her skin before he stepped back, not touching her body. Slowly, he reached out a trembling finger, and traced the chain she had draped over her back. Gold. Carefully he picked it up and lifted it over her head, and then after admiring it for a second longer, put it into the pocket of his trousers. A token to remind of this night. Then he reached for her waist again and lowered his lips back to her skin. He started dragging his lips across her shoulders, from left to right, and then slowly back. Her skin was soft, warm and fragrant, and he couldn't remember all the reasons that had kept him from this. When he had reached her left shoulder again, he brushed stray hairs away from her shoulders, and, pressing himself against her, he pressed his lips where her left shoulder met her throat, and sucked. It was primitive, but he couldn't deny he had wanted to mark her like this for a long time. Belle let out a moan and sank into his body. A quick jolt of magic to stabilise his ankle saved them from breaking their necks, but he didn't mind. In fact, he didn't mind at all. His hand left her waist and wrapped around her body to rest on her ribcage. He desperately wanted to move higher, but he didn't dare. When he was positive that he had created a bruise that would stay for at least a week, he eased off and placed a light kiss onto the bruising skin. Belle's breath was coming quick and her head was resting against his. He brushed his lips against the shell of her ear.  
  
“You really shouldn't be wearing such things.” he told her, more for his good than hers. Belle was silent for a second, and then she pulled away from him. But before he could have enough time to panic, she had turned around to face him and said: “You're right.” And then she ended his world by reaching for the hem of her shirt and with one quick move slipping it over her head and casting it away. He froze, all the blood of his body rushing south. He was positive that he was having a heart attack. Words rushed through his head, but none adequate to describe what he was seeing or feeling. Neither her body, nor the privilege of witnessing her nakedness. Belle's arm twitched, and he realised that she was waiting for a reaction. With difficulty he dragged his gaze away and up to her face. Her expression was torn between insecurity and determination. He could almost hear her tell herself _I will not be ashamed by this_ , and his heart filled with love and adoration for her courage, and he couldn't help but say her name and reach for her. 

  
Rumplestiltskin touched and kissed every inch of skin he could reach, his heart hammering away in his chest. When his lips closed around her nipple, Belle gasped and buried her hands in his hair, pressing his head to her chest. Instantly he reached around her to press her closer to him.  
  
“Never turn away from me again unless you truly want to”,  he heard her gasp above him.  
  
“Never”, he growled into her chest, answering the the former and negating the latter.  He left her chest in favour of her lips, kissing her with tongue and teeth.  He could feel Belle trying to unbutton his shirt without success, and slowly she stopped focusing on the kiss in favour of undressing him. So he moved on to her throat, until she suddenly dropped back her head and let out a moan that went straight to his groin. He ripped his head back and stared at her.  
  
“Enough. Bedroom. Now” he commanded, and Belle simply grinned, spun around and headed up the stairs. For a second he could only stare at her half naked body and the way it moved. When she reached the top of the stairs, she turned around and looked at him. Then she reached behind her back and undid the hook of her skirt. The prospect of new undiscovered territory jolted him into action and he rushed up the stairs.  
  
He caught up with her in the bedroom. She had turned on the lights and was standing there watching him, still holding her skirt in place with her hand. He wanted to tell her that she didn't need to do anything she did not want to, that she could always stop this, that he loved her, but before he could open his mouth she smiled and dropped her skirt. The only thing that was covering her now was a peach coloured scrap of lace that was clearly a torture device poorly disguised as underwear. Through it he could see dark hair set against cream skin.  
  
His eyes raked across her, trying to savour this moment. If he'd had to wait twice as long all over again, he'd do it. Again he could see her trying to fight her insecurity and inxperience. There was no-one braver than his Belle. Facing monsters and fears was brave . Embracing them with compassion and kindness required a breathtaking courage that only very, very few people had. He knew the rumours that were told back then, knew the fairytales they had here.  _Beauty_ they called her. And they had no idea.  _She_ had no idea.  
  
Slowly he walked over to her, watching her. When he had reached her, he lifted a hand to her face, and gently brushed it over her cheek. If their ever came a day were he stopped marvelling about her, he should be cursed for all eternity.  _Beauty.  
  
_ “Belle”, he whispered, his heart in his voice. She smiled.  
  
“Rumple”, she answered, and reached for him, just as he bowed down.  
  
This kiss was slow. It was a languid exploration, a sweet consolation that everything was well between them.  When she drew away from him, she looked up at him with a soft smile on her face. And then she slid her fingers under his shirt. His muscles tensing, he sucked in air as she slowly stroked her way up towards his chest. When her fingertips lightly brushed a nipple, he closed his eyes and swallowed, willing himself to stand still. He could feel her waiting. Bracing himself, he gave a brief nod, and Belle pulled the shirt over his head. The only sound was the cloth falling to the ground. Rumplestiltskin kept his eyes closed while he awaited her judgement. And then her hands were on his chest, followed by her lips and she whispered into his chest.  
  
“Breathe.”

  
Chuckling, he let out a shaky breath and opened his eyes. Belle leaned away to look up at him, and smiled. And then she looked at him, dragged her eyes over every inch of skin, every patch of hair and every scar she could find. He tried not to fidget. Belle had courageously held his gaze, and so would he. Well, at least he would pretend to. Only after minutes of her careful exploration that eclicted nothing but a deeply satisfied smile from her, he finally managed to relax.  That is until she continued to do so with her lips.  
  
Afterwards Rumplestiltskin wasn't sure how exactly he had survived her ministrations. Belle had apparently set her mind on learning every inch of his body with her lips. She dragged her lip across shoulders and collarbones, his chest,his arms, his fingers. And more so, she seemed to  _enjoy_ it. She wasn't following an agenda, or doing it because she thought it was what was expected of her. She did it because she  _wanted to.  
_  


When her fingers grazed the waistband of his trousers, she pulled her mouth from his skin. Asking for his permission, she looked up at his eyes, brightand shining and full of love. Again, his breath caught in his throat, and she smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek.

“Breathe”, she commanded him, her voice soft.  
  
Closing his eyes again, Rumplestiltskin turned his head, kissed her hand and, holding it firmly to his face, inhaled.

“Good”, she smiled, stroking her thumb over his cheek. Then she cupped his face with both hands, and kissed him lightly on the lips. Immediately he reached around her, and pressed her against him. The feeling of skin against skin send shivers down his spine. While he kissed her, she reached between their bodies and tried to open his trousers. She was having a little difficulty with doing so, but he refrained from helping her. He didn't want her to think she was incapable. And besides they had time. Hell, he needed a bit time.  
  
And then she had them open, and was pulling them down, but she was too fast. His trousers caught in his underwear, but a few frantic tugs had them free again, and then he was suddenly naked. Belle took a step away from him, but kept his hands in hers. She, too, seemed to need a moment to prepare herself, because at first she simply looked at his face, his chest, his stomach. Then she skipped over his groin to have a look at his shattered ankle. He tensed a bit, but all that showed on her face was love and desire. And then she raised her eyes. She looked her fill, emotions flitting over her face. After what felt like hours, she finally met his eyes. A smile broke out, spreading over her face and seeping into her voice as she told him:  
  
“I love you, Rumplestiltskin.”

  
Love, wonder, awe, gratefulness, all and more rushed through his body, not knowing were to go, what to do. He wanted to sink to her feet and weep.  
  
“And I love you, too”, he told her. At that Belle smiled even wider, and stepped towards him, bringing their bodies as close together as they could be without touching. She squeezed his hands, radiating with joy and warmth.  
  
“Then hold still, and let me love you”  
  
He let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh, and closed his eyes. For a moment he allowed himself to simply revel in his joy. All coherent thought left him when Belle's finger suddenly stroked over his length and then started stroking him. It took all his willpower not to come right then, but Belle took mercy on him and instead trailed her fingers over his loins. He licked his lips and opened his eyes and looked at her, and noticed that she had him at a disadvantage.  
  
Sweetheart, please”, he said, voice ragged an breathing hard, ”If you're going to kill me, at least do so naked.”  
  
Confused, Belle looked down. Then, after a second, she reached out and placed his hands on her hips. He took the offer and slowly slid the panties down her legs, while bending without straining his ankle. When she stepped out of the little pile of lace, he leaned back to look at her. Belle contently let him look his fill, stroking her fingers through his hair while she waited. Whispering her name, he buried his face in her stomach, inhaling her scent, but not trying to touch her apart from the little kisses that he pressed to her belly and his hands gripping her hips. She was soft and warm and _wet_. Before he could do anything about that, she softly tugged him up again.  
  
When he was standing, she gave him a heated look and then wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him like she'd never done before. While he was distracted, she sneaked her hand between them and suddenly his world was ending because she was stroking him, sometimes gently, sometimes firmly, sometimes clumsyly.  
  
Suddenly her lips left his and wandered over his jar and up to his ear, her tongue touching the spot just behind his earlobe, and all he could do was barely refrain from whimpering. And then her mouth has on his neck, her teeth digging into the skin there, and she was _sucking._ Before his brain could find control again he heard a moan break through his lips and his voice commanded:  
  
“Do that again.”  
  
And Belle did. When she was finished he was feeling slightly dizzy and sure that he was now carrying a bruise equal to hers. Rumplestiltskin found that he did not mind in the least.  
  
Belle kept up with her ministrations, and for a moment he was content to simply enjoy it. And enjoy it he did. All the images and fantasies he had fought so long ago, and now they were part of his reality.  
  
She was still stroking him, and while it felt truly wonderful to have her do such things to him, it was not _quite_ enough. Belle, his clever Belle, seemed to notice so and slowy let go of his neck and his cock, and reached beneath. As soon as her fingers touched his skin a hiss broke through his lips, and his hips shot forward, pressing him against her stomach. The next thing he felt was her hands on his chest, pushing him- away, he feared for a moment- but then the backs of his knees hit the bed and he sat down rather ungracefully. Immediately Belle climbed onto his lap and began kissing him again, her hands on his cheeks  and her sex pressed against his length, hot and wet and pulsing, and he was sure he was losing his mind. He moaned her name into her mouth and crushed her body against his, his hands holding and stroking every inch of skin he could find; he throat, her breasts, her belly and thighs, but when he tried to reach between her legs and stroke her, her hands caught his.  
  
“Not now.” she murmured into her kiss, and he obeyed, even if a bit disappointedly. He wanted to touch her, stroke her, kiss her, and not just sit idly by. Then she was pushing him backwards until he was properly lying on his back, and rose to her knees above him, reaching for his cock. And then a thought struck him, and he stopped her. While he cast her an apologetic look, he conjured the gold necklace that was still in the pocket of his discarded trousers. He reached up and hung it around her neck, this time letting it come to rest between her breasts. This, too, was an image he had fantasised about. Letting his eyes roam over her once, he caught her gaze and nodded.  
  
Slowly, her eyes never leaving his, she sunk down on him, burrying him in her heat. Holding his breath, he tried his best not to come immediately after being on edge for so long.  
  
Belle watched him carefully, her lips slightly apart, and after a moment, she smiled down at him.  
  
“Breathe”, she commanded again, and with a shaky smile, he obeyed.  
  
And then she started moving. It took her a moment to find her way with this, angles and rhythms unfamiliar to her yet, but Rumplestiltskin was glad, because it gave him a moment to brace himself. And then she suddenly found _the_ angle, and his world was rapidly dissolving into heat and heartbeats a nd electricity running through his body. A small part of his brain noticed that she didn't seem to be in a hurry to come, and he couldn't accept that. He moved his hand down her body, reaching for her, but she caught it and pinned it above his head, pressing her body flush against his.  
  
“Let me”, she whispered against his lips, and then she kissed him without stopping to move.  
  
Nearly moaning in frustration he grabbed her hip with his other hand, and tried to thrust up into her, but his position only allowed him to move along with her. She let go of his other hand in order to brace herself, and as soon as she let go tangled it in her hair, holding her closer to him. Their rhythm picked up, and Belle moved faster, riding him harder. She bent down and bit into his shoulder, stroking the skin with her tongue afterwards. He grunted, instinct taking over, and all he could do was call her name again and again, call her his love and pleadwith her never to stop, never to go. She answered him with _Rumple, my Rumplestiltskin,_ and _yes, yes there, yes,_ and _I missed you so_ and _I love you, I love you, I love you._  
  
He was so very close now, but Belle's moans only strengthened slowly; she was nowhere as near as him, and he could not fail her, not when she was giving him this. But again she seemed to sense what he was doing, and she ground her hips down against his, and whispered one word into his ear:  
  
“Come.”  
  
Her voice shot through his veins like boiling liquid, making ever synapse in his body snap and explode on it's way as he obeyed her. For a long time all he could feel was the warm humming in his body, and her gently riding out the last of his pleasure.  
  
When he opened his eyes, she smiled down at him, lovingly and most definitely happy with her work. And also, as he recalled, most definitely unsatisfied. Well, he would see to that.  
  
“Now”, he said, and grabbed her arms. A second later, he had her pinned underneath him, and his hand all over her. Now it was _his_ turn, and right hand immediately went between her tighs, seeking out the hot moisture they both had created there. Carefully he pushed his index finger inside of her, the moan this eclicted from her ranking high under his favourite sounds. After a few thrusts he added a second finger, and soon a third while he let his thumb run through her folds, spreading the mositure there. His left hand roamed her body, stroking her stomach and kneading her breasts, and when he pinched her right nipple, he felt her inner muscles clenching around his fingers.  While his fingers slid in and out of her, he let his thumb run over her clitoris in thight little circles. Now it was Belle keening and moaning beneath him, while he kissed her and murmured words of love into her skin, and took her with his hands. Her muscles tightened around his fingers, and he could feel that she was close. So he he bowed down and put his lips to her ear, like she had done to him, and said one word.  
  
“Come.”  
  
And she did. Her hands buried in the bedsheets and she pressed her face against his shoulder,her hips moving by themselves, pressing against his hand as the pleasure ran through her and her muscles contracted around him. He tried to memorise everything, the sounds she made, moans and half-swallowed screams and her panting breath, the way her skin looked in the light, the golden chain lying on her sweat covered skin, the way her muscles moved beneath. She was so very beautiful. He bowed down and kissed her throat, his fingers still slowly moving inside her. A moment later, she opened her eyes, and he smiled down at her content look. She smiled back, and raised a hand to his cheek.  
  
“You're a brave a man, Rumplestiltskin”, she said, still smiling, and the smile dropped from his face for a second, but then he realised that she was perfectly serious, and he looked at her, confused.  
  
“No sweetheart, I'm a coward”, he corrected her. It wasn't like he didn't tend to be a bit confused after an orgasm, but Belle was always so clear sighted.  
  
“Sometimes”, she agreed, but then went on: “but most of the time you are braver than most people.”  
  
He looked down at her, and swallowed the urge to outright declare her wrong. He had promised not to make decisions for her without discussing it with her. Belle wasn't stupid, and she wouldn't say such a thing if she wasn't convinced it was true. Besides, he was too tired to argue with her now. So he settled for asking for an explanation.  
  
“And why is that?”  
  
Belle reached up and pulled him down to her. When she had cuddled into his arms, she reached up and brushed her hand through his hair. Then she smiled up at him.  
  
“Because you try. Yes, you made a lot of wrong decisions. And yes, sometimes you're acting like a coward. But you try, Rumple. A wrong decision cost you your son, and you spend centuries trying to find a way back. You didn't always use the right ways, but you try. You tried to make your wife happy, you maimed yourself to be there for your son, you cursed yourself to save him and all the other children. You try to be better, even if you do it for my sake. You try, Rumplestiltskin, and that's a lot more than can be said for other people. And that's why I believe that you aren't lost; because being good does not mean to wield a sword or rule a kingdom, it means that one is willing to try and do better, and you are trying, Rumple.”  
  
He stared at her. He didn't know what he had expected, but it wasn't that. He had gone through centuries, inflicting pain on the people he loved by being a coward. That was a fact. There was nothing to glorify there. Yes, he had meant to save Bae, had meant to love Milah, had meant to find his son again, had meant to be worthy of Belle, but intent was meaningless. Good intentions had still cost him his son, had ruined lives, had send Belle away. He was a coward. That was his truth.  
  
But then he recalled that exactly those thoughts had brought both of them so much pain in the last days. And now, Belle knew of his doubts, yet she still insisted that he was no lowly coward. In his mind, he saw his three faces again- Rumplestiltskin, Dark One, Gold- the faces that he had decided were all faces of a coward, faces Belle failed to see and that were not loveable. Yet here she was, insisting that she did see them, and that she loved them. He thought of what she had told him today, thought of all the things he had considered truths. In a way they were black and white- he saw the coward, Belle a survivor. But how could he know who of them was right?  
  
“That's a rather strange way to read my story”, he said.  
  
Belle pecked his lips.  
  
“Maybe it's one you should try to read.”  
  
And for the first time, he could see it- neither black nor white, but grey. It was funny really. He had accused her of fashioning him into a story, but now he realised that that was what he had done to himself all along. He had looked at himself and declared himself a loser and coward because he had been born into poor circumstances, because he was lacking the typical assets of a hero. Because he was neither dashing nor strong nor courageous, he had decided he must be weak. Because he had made wrong choices he had declared himself to be scum. What he had failed to see was that he had also tried to make his best with what was given to him. What he had failed to see was a boy that was abandoned and a man that loved his son and tried to make his wife happy, and a man that made mistakes and that was sometimes weak. A man that also tried to right his mistakes. A man that tried to have a family. What he had failed to see was that he was no story or trope; he was human. He was not one thng only, and he needen't be one thing forever and never different. He still felt his old reluctance tug at him, but he knew that Belle had planted a seed that would grow.  
  
“Maybe.” , he whispered into the silence, and Belle cuddled tighter into his arms.  
  
Maybe one day he could become the man Belle deserved. Maybe one day he could be the father Bae deserved to have.  
  
He would certainly try.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, before everyone starts yelling at me, I know this is late. Very late. But I rewrote it at least 6 times until I was happy to publish it.  
> It's still kind of in progress.  
> So, here is Rum's POV. Jeez Rum, you can be so angsty, but we love you for it.  
> I really like this Verse, and I will probably write more fics for it- A girls- sleepover fic of Belle and Ruby is being written at this moment that explains the conversation mentioned in this fic.  
> Anyways, as always, this is not beta'd, and I obviously own neither OUAT nor the characters.  
> I hope you liked it, and then you tell me what you think.  
> An author with comments is a happy author!


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